


The Krusty Scandal

by Skillet_Writer



Category: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, Gen, Mental Instability, Physical Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skillet_Writer/pseuds/Skillet_Writer
Summary: SpongeBob is not acting himself. Neither is Mr. Krabs. Squidward senses something’s up.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	The Krusty Scandal

**_~The Krusty Scandal~  
  
_ **

* * *

SpongeBob found himself backed into the corner of his boss’ office for the third time this week. Same as the other two times, the room was dimly lit - practically dark - and he was trembling in fear at the mercy of the man he’d looked up to his entire career. The taller man loomed over him, a claw raised, before bringing it down across his tender, freckled cheek, immediately turning it red. There was no way that wouldn’t leave a mark.

SpongeBob knew it wasn’t right, being slapped in the face by Mr. Krabs like that. He’d flipped through the whole employee handbook more times than he could count and never once did a page state: _Your boss has permission to beat the shit out of you as he pleases should you screw something up that likely wasn’t directly your fault in the first place (if at all)._

And yet, Krabs didn’t seem to have a problem using brute force and seniority to put SpongeBob in his place - the place he rarely ever stepped out of, but when he did was not made to easily forget it. SpongeBob had proved his worth from the moment he flew through the door with that thought-to-be-fiction hydro-dynamic spatula all those years ago; that meant Krabs had high expectations of him. There was a painfully obvious standard he was held to that Squidward or any previous employees were not. SpongeBob was a _god_ behind the grill, and gods weren’t supposed to f**k things up. They weren’t supposed to forget the pickles, or go on strike with their lazy coworkers, or fall asleep on the job after too many unpaid, double-overtime night shifts.

No, SpongeBob was better than that.

Or so he thought. 

“Oh suck it up, boy-o,” Krabs said, pressing a claw to SpongeBob’s quivering lips. He stood there, observing the sponge, watching as small tears spilled from the corners of his eyelids and trailed down his face until they were absorbed back into the material of his body. “And hush up or someone will hear ye.” SpongeBob was a cryer, a _loud_ crier at that, and Krabs had come to expect waterworks after each of their little talks about… behavior.

“Come into me office” was a phrase the young fry cook had used to get excited over hearing. It usually meant praise or promotion was coming his way. Or - even though he hated to make mistakes - criticism, because criticism helped him improve as both a worker and a person. But _criticism_ had taken on a new meaning in the relatively lengthy period of time since Krabs had adopted this new form of bossing, and having those four now ominous words spoken to him only served to make his sponge blood run cold.

Being called into that office nowadays, especially alone, struck more fear in him than any hash-slinging slasher could manage. The once warm, inviting room full of opportunity felt like a cold jail cell when the door shut behind you, and Mr. Krabs almost never wore a smile when he sat stiff and upright in that chair, pissed that he had to pause counting his precious bills to deal with your sorry ass. If he did, it was to hide his nothing-to-smile-about intentions, or to keep himself from full-on lunging at you if what you’ve done was _worse than plundering a man’s booty_ , whatever that meant.

Now, Krabs had always been tampering with his employees’ checks and dancing around the idea of minimum wage, but it had never been used as a punishment up until recently. Before, it was all about saving money, improving the building, paying for supplies, but now... it was used as some sort of a threat.

Disgusting.

“Another incident like that one, SpongeBob, and I’ll cut you down to a buck an hour. Don’t test me, boy.”

SpongeBob bit back a whimper when he felt a pinching grip around his wrists. He couldn’t bear to look his boss in the eye as he said with a hiccup, “Aye-aye, sir.”

He was told to get back to work before being forcefully shoved out the door, tripping as he went, causing him to faceplant on the wooden floor. The door slammed shut behind him and he groaned. How humiliating was it to have the customers who saw him every day witness him exit his boss’ office like that, tripping over himself like a toddler just learning to walk? They probably thought he was a clumsy idiot. Or maybe they pitied him. Maybe someone _knew_. - Gah, he didn’t want their pity! And no one would ever have to know if he could collect himself, suck it up like Mr. Krabs told him to, and get back to doing the job he was oh so good at doing. ...Right?

He wiped his face of tears and mucus before raising it up to look around him. Wow. No one had even noticed his epic fail that he was sure was worthy of some compilation on the Internet, and if they did then it certainly didn’t show. They were all contentedly eating Krabby Patties, stuffing their faces, their eyes on their meals. _Honestly, what am I getting so worked up over?_ he thought, breathing relief. _A simple fall is the least crazy thing that’s happened in this restaurant._

SpongeBob hastily got up and brushed off his pants before heading towards his work station, whistling some tune to keep his mind focused. As he reached out to open the kitchen door, a familiar sticky appendage caught his arm. “S-Squidward?” he chuckled. He gave a big smile.

Perhaps it was _too_ big. 

“SpongeBob, what’s going on?” Squidward stood leaning forward in the cashier boat against the bench closest to the sponge. His arm was outstretched, his right tentacle wrapped around the yellow arm, and his lips were pressed in a straight line. He seemed more curious than concerned, but his characteristic frown was never easy to read.

“N-nothing! Nothing! I mean- Whaddya _mean_ what’s going on, Squidward?” his tone became matter-of-fact. “There’s nothing to _go on_ except me going back to my job and _working_. I suggest you do the same.” His five-seconds-later awkward chuckle to seem less jerkish didn’t make Squidward’s fresh scowl disappear. The octopus merely turned his back to him in silence, monotonously beginning to take orders. 

SpongeBob went into the kitchen to do his part. Some fresh patties lay out on the grill, along with lettuce, tomatoes, and onions that needed to be cut. His hands were still shaky as he went to pick up a large knife and started to slice through a thick ball of lettuce. Slicing through the green vegetable was usually an easy task, but with his fingers all twitching and the small ache in his wrists, things were going at a slow rate that he _knew_ he’d get yelled at for, by Mr. Krabs or—

“Sponge _Bob!_ ”

Or Squidward. The octopus barely fit his head through the window that allowed them to communicate with each other and waved a notepad in his face. “SpongeBob, hurry up already, we’ve already got orders. How in Neptune’s blue sea are you _still_ prepping the vegetables?”

“I- I dunno. Sorry! It’s just a really tough piece of lettuce today. I think it was picked a little early, but hey, the fresher the better, that’s what I always say!”

“You never say that.”

“Well, I just did,” he faltered with a fading smile. SpongeBob didn’t want to keep this up much longer. Too much talk about why he was literally shaking would get Squidward asking questions, or worse: it’d get Mr. Krabs to come out and ask what all the holdup was. And then he’d promptly get a talk, no doubt. If he was lucky, _after closing,_ when the customers and Squidward were gone and no one was around to hear.

Wait. Wait, that’s the _opposite_ of what he wanted, right? If the customers and Squidward were around when it happened, Mr. Krabs would have to tone down his actions. But if they were gone…

No. SpongeBob didn’t want to think about it. Sure, it’d happened a few times in the past, but he had to force those memories into the back of his mind; he had to keep them locked up deep inside and throw away the proverbial key. No, he promised himself he would forget those nights. Those nights where Krabs was especially angry - at the world, his relationships, his bank account - and would come barreling through the door while SpongeBob was working the night shift, finding any reason to unleash his fury upon the weak employee. An open door? _Smack!_ A puddle? _Pow!_ A penny out of place? _Bam!_ Right in the nose. Oh, and there’s red dripping from it. And he’s tired. _Is- is that blood, Mr. Krabs? Am I dying? Ow! Sir, it hurts! I’m-_

“Bleeding! I’m bleeding!” The words left him in a squeal like that of a little girl. What just happened? First he was cutting up lettuce and now - Oh, yeah. That explains it.

Squidward whipped his head around, looking down with the expectation of the occasional few drops SpongeBob spilled when working with a sharp utensil ( _occasional_ , because the sponge was actually quite skilled with his hands and knew how to properly prepare a vegetable). What he saw wasn’t anticlimactic in the slightest, in fact the sight made him physically cringe. “S-Sponge?”

SpongeBob held the wrist of his right hand with his left. The left had been cutting, the right holding the lettuce down. (It’s canon he’s ambidextrous, by the way.) From his pointer finger, bright red dripped from a gash in its side. It slid down his palm, tracing its creases, making the whole hand a bloody mess. You would’ve thought he sliced open more than just that one finger if you were to see it with your own eyes.

The sponge’s face twisted in pain. It stung like an absolute bitch, and felt all warm and tingly with a constant flow traveling to the surface of the wound. “Shrimp, Squidward, what- what should I do?” He looked up at his coworker with desperate eyes. “Help me out here, buddy.”

Squidward tapped his chin. “Seems pretty bad. Maybe I should notify Mr. Krabs.”

“NO!” he said a bit too loud, and instinctively clasped his right hand over his mouth, smearing crimson all over. Immediately he drew the hand back and attempted to wipe his face off on his white shirt. “It’s fine- I’ll, uh, handle it on my own. We’ve got a med kit back here somewhere, I’m sure. Just leave it to me.”

The octopus was unconvinced. “You’re fooling around, SpongeBob, and this isn’t like you. I mean, it is, you’re always a fool, but I mean… You don’t seeeem - what’s the word? - _well_ .” He rested his squishy chin on the windowsill, watching the sponge with lazy eyes, before cracking a small smirk. “Maybe you should take the day off or something. Give me a break from all… _this_.” He waved a tentacle around in a circular motion, gesturing to the hysterics SpongeBob was in.

Rummaging through the medical kit like a teen searching for the perfect outfit, he replied, “Squidward, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Hmm. Really? And why’s that, Sponge _Bong?_ ”

“...Bong?”

“I dunno, you seem high or something.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m just, uh” - he coughed - “trying to keep up my _never-missed-a-day-of-work_ streak so I can get employee of the month again. That’s all.” The sponge smirked a little, knowing just how to get Squidward off the subject. “I mean, I guess I _could_ just drop that all together, ‘cause you and I both know I’d still get that award even if I showed up every day _late_.”

“I don’t think our boss would feel the same.”

At those words, SpongeBob practically choked on the water around him. He wasn’t expecting that reply. Like, at all. He expected Squidward to get all _I’ve been working here longer than you, I have seniority,_ but that Mr. Krabs statement just came out of nowhere, hit him like a brick. What did Mr. Krabs have to do with any of this?! Squidward didn’t… _know_ , did he?

He sat down to apply gauze to his wound. (Okay, so he sat down more to keep from falling over in panic, but nobody knew that.) His eyes met Squidward’s briefly before they turned back to the task at hand. “I honestly don’t know what Mr. Krabs has to do with this, Squidward—”

“Oh, you know what he has to do with this, SpongeBob. Quit playing dumb.”

His eyes widened but he kept a level tone. “I-if you know what’s going on then why do you stand idly by?”

“Oh, _I_ stand idly by, and you don’t? You’re sitting there as the epitome of a two-year-old. _Hello, Doc? Yeah, my coworker got a bad booboo on the job._ That’s you, SpongeBob. And it’s not just today. You’ve been like this for weeks- no, _months_ now. You can’t shove your employee of the month award bullshit in my face if you can’t even chop lettuce correctly.”

“It’s not my fault Mr. Krabs h—” He paled. “Wh-what did you say?”

“What? All I was saying was this _of-the-month_ bullshit you seem to like bragging about means nothing if you can’t manage to chop—”

“You cursed.”

Squidward blinked in disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” The sponge looked like he’d seen a ghost. His eyes were big and his mouth agape.

A shaky, yellow finger stained in red raised up to point at the offending octopus. “Y-you cursed at me,” he said, voice cracking. “You cursed at me, you cursed at me, you cursed at me!”

“This is exactly the pathetic behavior I was talking about, SpongeBob. So what if I said a _bad_ word? Also, don’t bother answering; I don’t give a barnacle what the handbook says.”

The handbook. ... _Mr. Krabs._ SpongeBob was starting to get lost in the thoughts that were overwhelming his senses. He was pointing at Squidward but could not see him, and although the words coming from the octopus weren’t particularly comforting, he’d much rather him than the blurry figure of an angry Mr. Krabs that was hovering in front of him. A flashback flickered behind his eyes like a horror movie, and he felt himself distance from the present for what would feel like hours. 

_“I’m sick of all yer bullshit, SpongeBob!”_

_“Mr. Krabs, please, sir, I’m sorry!”_ He was knelt down in front of the crab, in front of his office desk. The room was almost pitch black, saved only by the orange glow of a lamp that cast eerie shadows on the walls, and the door was shut and locked. _Locked._ Even though there was no one around and this was a late night shift.

Krabs stood in front of the desk also, over SpongeBob, his shadow the tallest and darkest. Raising a fist, he said, _“Look up at me.”_

The boy’s obedience was rewarded with a punch to the face. He shrieked. Fortunately, it didn’t matter how loud he was, it’s not like anyone was going to hear him. Wait - _was_ that fortunate? _“Mr. Krabs, I still don’t understand. What did I do wrong? You weren’t even here to witness—”_

Another punch. _“No, I guess I wasn’t. And no one is here to witness this, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something_ wrong _with what I’m doing.”_ He kneed SpongeBob in the torso, knocking him backwards. His body smacking against the floor made a rubber-duck squeak. Krabs grunted in satisfaction.

_“If you know what you’re doing is wrong, why do you do it?”_ SpongeBob boldly asked. His incessant questioning got him a swift kick to the groin, and he’d be clutching his jewels if he had any. Instead, he just felt the impact of a leg between his, and the initial harsh contact is what hurt.

_“I don’t answer to ye. Ye answer to_ me _. All ye need to be focusing on right now is how much ye love yer job, and how not to lose it. Tip number one: shut yer neptunedamn mouth.”_

There was something in Krabs’ eyes on nights like these that was dark and mysterious; like those green orbs held pain and secrets far worse than what SpongeBob was hiding. Whatever it was, it was bone-chilling (even if the sponge had no bones). Sure, the crab was always irritable, a ticking time-bomb if he woke up on the wrong side of the lumpy mattress, but on these specific nights, oh, he was _not_ the same crab. He was different, he was cruel, he was _violent_.

_“Quit being such a baby and snap out of it!”_

_“O-out of what, sir?”_

“Out of this!” _Thwack!_

Oh, his flashback. His painfully real flashback. So painful that he actually could feel his cheek burning. It’s like Krabs had actually slapped him… in his… face. Oh.

“Mr. Krabs?!” he cried as his eyes began to open, adjusting to the present world that he’d been thrown back into. The adrenaline pumping in his veins told him to get away, and he crawled backwards, knocking into a bag of new potatoes.

“What the _barnacles?_ ” Krabs boomed. Like a thundercloud he stormed over to the boy, shaking him violently and yelling at him to stop spoiling his fresh goods. “Those are supposed to last us a month, lad! What are ye _doing?_ ” He clenched his claws tightly, loosening them only when he noticed Squidward’s blank stare from the window. “What’s wrong with ‘im, Squidward?”

“Nah-ah-ah, that’s _Mister_ Squidward to you,” he joked.

Steam emitted from his invisible ears. “Mr. Squidward!!” 

“That’s better.” He smiled. “Well, _Eugene_ , I called you in here because _SpongeBob_ here is having a mental breakdown. Any idea why?”

“Probably- probably tired or somethin’. Who knows? ... He’s an interesting case, always been a mystery; no use in trying to solve him now.”

“Mr. Krabs, if he’s tired,” Squidward said, the sardonic grin leaving his face, sticking his head further through the window, “then there’s clearly a problem. I mean _really,_ since when is _SpongeBob_ the one slacking?”

“Since recently!” Krabs barked.

The reply was to Squidward, and yet the hot breath of Krabs’ words hit SpongeBob in the face in a way that let him know it was really directed at _him_.

He lay flat against the wooden planks, his boss straddling his waist with those skinny peg legs. There was no ignoring the weight of the crab on his abdomen. As a sponge, his small frame was malleable and therefore not easily broken, but that didn’t mean having a grown man sit on him was any bit comfortable. The pressure made him flatten in the middle, leaving the parts of him sticking out to get big. It felt as though he was an inflated balloon about to pop, except he wouldn’t. He’d just sit there in agony until his boss decided to have some mercy. And when he eventually did, there would still be a burden on his chest; one that went far deeper than the physical.

“And _since when_ do you care so much?” Krabs said, turning his body toward Squidward’s direction, which caused SpongeBob to squirm in mild discomfort. “Get back to readin’ yer fancy catalogs or whatever the halibut you do best and leave the managing stuff to me.”

“Tch. You know, it’s not like I can actually _concentrate_ with all the racket back here!”

“Good! Ye shouldn’t be readin’ jack anyway! Can’t have _two_ lazy-ass employees under me roof, but apparently that’s what I’m skipperin’!”

SpongeBob wrestled beneath him weakly, arms flailing, and Krabs rolled his eyes at the pitiful sight. “Ye ain’t gettin up until ye understand what yer little mishap means for yer _pay_ ,” he spat gruffly. Immediately the sponge stopped moving.

A fold of skin like an ‘brow raised above Squidward’s right eye. Was this really happening? SpongeBob was being scolded - no, _berated_ , and he was finally getting to witness it? This should’ve been a dream come true.

You see, Squidward longed for the day when he’d finally get to hear his annoying coworker _get told_ , longed for the day when SpongeBob would keep his thoughts and his hands and his grating laughter to _himself_ . Only, the sponge’s actions had actually been quite tame over the past few months. Witnessing this was less of a victory and more of a scene. Sure, SpongeBob could be a clutz at times, so pulling a _Sleeping Beauty_ and landing atop a bag of premature French fries wasn’t entirely out of the norm. What Squidward was more concerned about was the genuine fear cast on SpongeBob’s face as he had rocked there, spasming, calling out phrases like “Please don’t hurt me!” Squidward always knew SpongeBob to have some sort of mental health issue, but whatever this was was not the normal brand of SpongeBob-ery. And knowing Mr. Krabs’ often harsh, unforgiving demeanor (especially when it came to losing money), there’s no way whatever he was about to punish him with was going to improve the sponge’s off behavior. If anything, it was going to worsen it.

“Mr. Krabs, can’t you just send him home for the day?” he spoke up. “We all know making SpongeBob take time off from work is bigger punishment than any stupid check cut.”

“So ye’d like to man two posts, then, Mr. Squidward? We-heh-hell, be my guest. SpongeBob, go home.”

“W-wait just a minute,” Squidward spluttered, narrowly missing the grill as he pushed through the window and awkwardly tumbled to the floor in a crumple of tentacles. He stood up and brushed himself off, opening his mouth to protest. - Krabs was quicker. 

Krabs got up and scuttled over to his disgruntled employee - which allowed SpongeBob’s flattened self return to its normal shape - and jabbed a pointed claw to the fabric of his polo. “ _Exactly_ ,” he grinned. “SpongeBob stays.”

“I’m telling you, Mr. Krabs,” Squidward spoke in a harsh whisper, grasping Krabs’ collar and looking into his eyes with an almost foreign sincerity, “something’s not right with SpongeBob.”

“I’ll ask ye again: ye wanna man two posts?”

“No-”

“Grillin’ and waiterin’... Aargh, and how could I _fer_ get? Bathrooms, tables, trash. The whole lot! Ye got time for that, Mr. Squidward, _hm?_ Ye got the _energy?_ It isn’t whatcha signed up for, but it _is_ what SpongeBob signed up for, ain’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Well then it’s settled. Heh. Ye can barely keep up with the simplest job in the joint, anyways. Why would I ever leave the sake of me restaurant in _yer_ slimy mits? Every time I’ve left ye in charge, there’s always been some tomfoolery.”

Squidward bunched up his fists. “Yeah, well these ‘slimy mits’ are the same slimy mits that handle your precious money day in and day out. If I were you, Eugene, I’d pay a little more respect to this cashier, lest you find one day that your register is a home for flies.”

“Ah, cut the flowery language. Ye should know yer place by now. ‘Cause I’m tellin’ ye, if a _single_ damn thing bad happens to me money” - he got close to his ear - “ye can bet somethin’ precious o’ _yers_ will be a fly’s home.”

“Are you _threatening_ me?”

“Yer life? Aye.”

In that moment, there was something in Krabs’ eyes that seemed to flash, and it caused Squidward to break eye contact immediately. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but there was something almost suffocating about being so close to his boss. If he thought something was wrong with _SpongeBob_ , then he was _beyond_ concerned as to what was going through Krabs’ wacky head. Something dark, he was sure. Mr. Krabs had always been a little cuckoo; that fishing trip to celebrate his millionth dollar had been more than enough to confirm. Squidward had acknowledged that certain things made him snap and that certain things made him violent, but this dour aura around him had been there for months now.

“You’re _sickening_ ,” Squidward hissed, sounding confident, though his knees knocking told a different story. “You know that, right?”

Krabs simply rolled his eyes. “Just get back to work, Mr. Squidward. We’ve got customers.”

After Squidward left, Krabs scuttled over to SpongeBob. He stood over the feeble boy and nudged him with his foot. “Ye know the drill, son. Get up.”

SpongeBob, coughing, arose on weak legs that were akin to cylindrical sticks of yellow gelatin. They wobbled, complete with that classic wobble board sound effect, doing him a disservice that made him collapse on his knees. He continued to cough as he tried to steady his breathing. Mr. Krabs sitting on him had put a pressure on his chest, and it lingered. “Aye-aye sir,” he wheezed, limp as a noodle.

“Just so we’re clear, I’ll be docking this week’s pay by five bucks to cover them potat _ers_. Don’t screw up again, SpongeBob. - And quit yer hackin’, ‘fore I give ye a real reason to hack.”

Ignoring the itch in his throat, he flashed a shaky smile. “C-can do, Mr. K,” he replied, trying and failing to give the usual salute.

* * *

**...Chapter 2 coming soon...**


End file.
